The Legend of Broken

by Caleb Carr

  Heldo-Bah pounds Veloc’s back with a congratulatory hand. “A fine shot, Veloc—we’ll eat well tonight! Quick, now—you two fetch the haunches and the back straps, while I talk with our prisoner!” Veloc and Keera trot away, Veloc grinning at his friend’s praise. “That’s right,” Heldo-Bah adds, under his breath. “Go and get me my dinner, you vain ass …”

  Turning to stride delightedly toward the struggling soldier, Heldo-Bah pauses when he hears Veloc cry in stifled alarm. Glancing back into the pasture, the gap-toothed forager sees that the shag steer has risen unexpectedly from the ground and come close to goring its would-be executioner: The arrow has not pierced the animal’s flesh as deeply as they had thought. Comprehending her brother’s predicament, Keera races faster to aid him; Heldo-Bah, however, only shakes his head with a small laugh. “I’ll mate with one of Keera’s river spirits before I’ll chase a wounded shag steer about in the dark …”

  The captive soldier lets out a low moan; and when Heldo-Bah turns to him again, the forager’s aspect has changed to something more unsettling than anything we have yet witnessed. Anger, foolishness, despair, jocularity: Heldo-Bah has already exhibited all of these—

  But now, for the first time, when he is alone with the soldier, it becomes clear that his casual comments about murder have some root in experience.

  The soldier senses this, and his moans become more pitiable. “Oh, don’t carry on so, Tall,” Heldo-Bah says quietly. “Think of this as a small taste of Bane life.” He gives the collar of the young Guardsman’s tunic a painful tug, pulling the captive up onto his knees. In this position, the two can just look each other in the eye: Heldo-Bah puts his head close to the Guardsman’s, then turns both his own and his captive’s faces to watch the shining Moon. “Things look different from this point of view, eh?”

  The youth’s widening eyes indicate clearly that he thinks Heldo-Bah mad, and his panic makes him take too large a breath, shaking dirt loose from the sod in his mouth. He begins to choke as the dirt catches in his throat: if Heldo-Bah does not help him, he will soon die, and both of them know it. Yet the Bane forager goes on studying him calmly.

  “Bad feeling to be treated no better than a useless animal, eh, Tall? I’ve an idea—I’ll save your life, that should finish your Broken pride for good and all!” Heldo-Bah then works the sod out of the Guardsman’s mouth, after which the captive spits, and retches yellow slime. He catches his breath, heaving noisily—and quickly finds one of Heldo-Bah’s knives at his throat. “Now, now—no noise or crying out, Tall. You’ll be dead before anyone hears you.”

  The soldier can only gasp: “Are you going to kill me?”

  “That—is a distinct possibility.” Heldo-Bah keeps his knife leveled at the soldier’s neck. “How willing are you to educate me?”

  “To—what?” stammers the Guardsman.

  “Educate me!” Heldo-Bah answers plainly. “I am only a Bane forager, Tall, I know nothing about the truly important things in life: your great society, for instance, and the laws that keep it great …” Heldo-Bah lets the knife at the soldier’s throat draw a little blood, then shows the sticky blade to the young man, who can see the precious liquid clearly in the Moonlight. “For instance—why would the priests of Kafra deliberately kill a sickly comrade of yours on our side of the River?”

  “What are you talking about?” the captive moans.

  The question brings the forager’s knife back to his throat. “I can cut deeper, Tall, if you play at ignorance with me. You’re a member of Lord Baster-kin’s Guard—you know all that has gone on in this part of the frontier.”

  “But—” Heldo-Bah’s mounting pressure on the knife is moving the young man to tears of despair. “But this is my first patrol, Bane! I know nothing save what has happened tonight!”

  Heldo-Bah’s air of delighted menace collapses. “You’re joking.”

  “Joking? Now?”

  “Then you’re lying. You must be! Your first patrol? Not even my luck is that bad!”

  The Guardsman shakes his head as emphatically as the Bane’s knife will permit. “I tell you, I know nothing—” And then, a faint light of recognition fills the man’s eyes. “Wait.”

  Heldo-Bah looks quickly out at the pasture. Veloc and Keera are stalking the mortally wounded steer, whose death throes make it ever more dangerous. “Oh, I’ll wait, Tall—that much is certain. I’m certainly not joining those two …”

  “I did hear something—in the mess. Earlier. About an execution.”

  “Good! Your chances of surviving the night have improved enormously. Now—who was executed? And why in that manner?”

  “What manner?”

  “In the manner he was killed, damn you! Why force him across the bridge, shoot him down with ritual arrows, then leave the body untouched, with the arrows still in it? You Tall haven’t suddenly lost your taste for religion or wealth, have you? Those arrows were from the Sacristy of your High Temple, we know this, and a lot of gold and silver went into the making of them—what does it all signify?”

  “I—I don’t know any more than I’ve told you, I swear it! I heard two soldiers talking about an execution that took place some days ago—one asked the other if he thought it had succeeded.”

  “Succeeded?” Heldo-Bah does not hide his skepticism. “With nearly half a dozen arrows in him? Of course it succeeded! What’s your game, Tall?”

  Again the knife presses hard, and the Guardsman must strain not to cry out. “I don’t think—that is, it seemed they were speaking of something else! Not as if they had succeeded in killing the man, but—something else.”

  “Such as?” Heldo-Bah draws another bead of blood from the youth, close to the vital pathways throbbing on the powerful neck.

  “I don’t know!” the captive sobs. “In the name of Kafra, Bane, I would tell you, if I did—why would I not?”

  Heldo-Bah rises up, as if making ready to cut the youth’s throat; but at the sight of the tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks, he relents, and shoves the knife angrily into the sheath that holds all three of the blades. “Yes, I suppose you’re telling the truth, Tall—and I suppose my luck simply is that bad. Tonight as always …” Looking out into the pasture once more, the forager hisses. “Blast it. And those two still haven’t got my meal!”

  Out amid the cattle, Veloc is being chased in a tightening circle by the wounded steer, as his sister moves to grab hold of the long, bloodied hair that dangles from the animal’s neck and shoulders. Keera is close to success—until the steer flings her a dozen yards away with a toss of its head. She sits up, dazed but uninjured. “This evening looks to be a thorough disappointment,” Heldo-Bah moans.

  “You won’t kill me?” the captive dares, some nerve returning.

  “Oh, I’d like to, make no mistake. Save that the woman you see out there would render me worse than dead, were I to do it …”

  “Truly? I—I did not know that the Bane understood mercy.”

  Heldo-Bah gives an angry laugh. “Us? It’s you lofty demons that inflict suffering without a bit of remorse! Besides, what of Kafra, and his little brother the God-King? Won’t they save you from our terrible wrath?”

  The Guardsman’s voice suddenly boils with indignant rage: “Do not soil those names by speaking them, you unholy little—”

  Heldo-Bah laughs more heartily. “Good, Tall—good! Let’s keep things simple—you hate me, and I hate you. Each on principle. I don’t like confusion.” He snatches a gutting blade from his belt, and points into the pasture once more. “You take my friend there—do you know, he has spent this evening savaging my ears with those old lies about all men having once been of an average height? I ask you, what half-witted—”

  A stifled cry of alarm comes from Veloc, who is waving frantically at Heldo-Bah; but Heldo-Bah only smiles and returns the wave.

  “Listen, Bane,” the captive says, feeling ever bolder, now that he realizes these three do not intend murder. “You know my comrades will return so
on. You should release me now—”

  Heldo-Bah considers the matter as he watches events on the Plain. “And you had best hope my friends avoid that steer’s horns,” he answers, in a blithe manner that renews much of the young man’s fear. “Because if it’s up to me, boy, you will die. But let’s return to this puzzling question of height for the moment. I’ll tell you what—help me solve it. And then, perhaps, I’ll let you go.”

  “What is it you want to know?”

  “It’s troubling,” Heldo-Bah answers, squinting at the soldier, his voice still a blend of threat and congeniality. “If it’s true, this business of all men having been of one size before your accursed city was built, that would mean that the creation of the Bane wasn’t the act of any god, yours or ours—wouldn’t it? That would mean that the Tall somehow brought it about themselves—wouldn’t it?” Heldo-Bah again puts his face very close to the youth’s. “That would mean that you have a lot to answer for—wouldn’t it?”

  The forager is interrupted by a louder cry from the shag steer, followed by a very unsettling sound that Veloc makes as he runs with his buttocks just inches from the dying animal’s thrusting horns, while Keera dashes alongside the animal once more.

  Heldo-Bah frowns. “Well … I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else. This is the price of being a martyr to one’s digestion, Tall …” He grips the gutting blade (which is almost as long as his forearm) tight enough to whiten his knuckles. “Stay at your post,” he mocks, as he bends down to cut a fresh piece of grassy sod and stuff it into the Guardsman’s mouth. “I’m just going to finish that steer.” Heldo-Bah drops the captive’s brass armlet on the ground. “Here,” he says. “Let your god keep you company. And pray, boy …”

  Only when Heldo-Bah is out in the open plain does he realize that he and his friends have wasted too much time with their various amusements: other members of Lord Baster-kin’s Guard will arrive before long, to find out what has so upset the cattle. Heldo-Bah takes the ball of hatred that has been fixed all his life on Broken, and momentarily redirects it to the wounded animal: he locks eyes with it, in a manner that transfixes the steer just long enough to allow Heldo-Bah to leap onto the beast’s thick neck and gain an unshakable purchase with his strong legs. Then, in one expert motion, he reaches around with his gutting blade and slits the animal’s throat, sending a spray of hot blood across the winded Veloc’s legs. In seconds the steer has collapsed, and Heldo-Bah leaps back to the ground, rubbing dirt into the blood on his tunic.

  “Trust you to bungle it, Veloc,” he says, as Keera prostrates herself before the head of the dead steer.

  “An excellent maneuver, Heldo-Bah,” Veloc answers angrily. “A pity you couldn’t have managed it earlier!”

  “Be still!” Keera orders; and then she turns to the steer again, murmuring several phrases indistinctly, yet earnestly.

  “She fears its wrath,” Veloc whispers. “It did not die quickly.”

  “No—and we’ve tarried too long here, as a result,” Heldo-Bah replies—although not loud enough for Keera to hear.

  Within seconds, Keera is on her feet, having begged the steer, as Veloc said, for mercy. “Hurry, both of you,” she says, as she cuts away one of the steer’s haunches. “Heldo-Bah, if you want your precious back straps, you can cut them out yourself.”

  Heldo-Bah quickly gets the carcass of the steer open and its guts out onto the Plain in a steaming mass. Working deeper, he neatly harvests the long pieces of muscle that run astride the spine, delicacies he has dreamed of for many days; and he does all of this in less time than it takes the other two foragers to remove the second haunch. The three make ready to run back to the river and their waiting bags—but they go only a few steps before Keera stands alarmingly still, ordering the other two to wait. Heldo-Bah and Veloc see fear suddenly widen her eyes.

  “The panther?” Heldo-Bah whispers.

  Keera shakes her head once quickly. “No—wolves. Many …”

  Veloc looks back at the remains of the steer. “Come for the carcass?”

  Keera shakes her head, disturbed. “They may have smelled the blood, but—they’re in that direction. The place where we—”

  The noises that erupt from the spot where the three Bane left the bound Broken Guardsman make further explanation unnecessary: none of the foragers needs to see what is happening to know that the pack of wolves has decided to move in swiftly on the easiest meal. The agonized screams of the helpless soldier indicate the pack is working fast: in half a minute the screaming is stifled, and the howls are replaced by the growls of feeding.

  Keera knows that any wolves that do not get an immediate place at the Guardsman’s body will come looking for other meat, and the smell of the steer’s blood will so embolden them that they will take long chances against humans. “We must move in a wide circle and back over the river,” she says. “Quickly—the other soldiers must have heard that.” She starts to move, and Veloc keeps pace behind her; but Heldo-Bah hesitates.

  “You two go ahead,” he declares. “I want that brass armlet.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Veloc snaps. “You heard what Keera said.”

  “Take the back straps,” Heldo-Bah answers, tossing the bloody pieces of beef to Veloc. “I’ll meet you at the bridge!” Before waiting for further argument, Heldo-Bah vanishes quickly.

  Intending to give the wolves a chance to move on to the steer carcass, Heldo-Bah works a wide circle through the field to the spot where he left the Guardsman. As he runs, the forager’s thoughts turn to the young man, but with little remorse: to a greater extent he is curious—about how much of the body the wolves will consume before going to the steer, and how it must have felt for a youth who had known comfort for most of his short life to have faced, on his first night of patrol, all the horrors of the wilderness, without weapons, comrades, or even freedom. This last thought brings a smile to Heldo-Bah’s face, as he reaches a spot from which he can hear those few wolves who have not already been drawn to the richer meat of the steer snarling over the soldier’s remains. When these sounds cease, Heldo-Bah creeps closer once more. But even he cannot maintain his smile when he finds the remains:

  The wolves have torn away the young man’s limbs, along with the gut-line that bound them, and slick white bone sockets shine out from the bloody groin and shoulders. The armor has frustrated attempts to get inside the body, but the head lies to one side, almost fully severed, the wide eyes slowly ceasing to reflect the Moon. Heldo-Bah studies the remains, then retrieves the shining armlet from the ground and sets out for the river. He pauses after just a few steps, however, and turns to stare once more into the dead, terrified eyes of his young captive.

  “Well, boy,” Heldo-Bah murmurs. “It’s a Bane’s education you’ve had tonight.” His cracked lips curl a final time, displaying something more complex than cruelty. “A shame you’ll never have a chance to use it …”

  Turning back to fetch the soldier’s short-sword from about his ravaged right shoulder, Heldo-Bah is soon running fast enough to catch his companions before they reach the Fallen Bridge.

  Arnem’s long march into the heart of Broken, and the mystery he encounters along the way …

  “SO IT WAS WOLVES,” Linnet Niksar pronounces, having heard the terrible sounds that have reverberated up from the Plain below Broken; and though his words are conclusive, his tone lacks the certainty to match.

  “Yes, Linnet,” agrees young Pallin Ban-chindo, who tries to hide his relief at this Earthly explanation for the agonized cries. “Shall I stand the watch down, Sentek?”

  Like his aide, however, Sixt Arnem does not share the young pallin’s certainty. “I wouldn’t, Ban-chindo,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing and deepening the scar-like creases at their corners: the product of a lifetime spent studying what ordinary eyes are slow to detect. “No, I would not …”

  “Sentek?” Ban-chindo asks in surprise.

  Arnem slowly lifts a finger to trace the black horizon of the forest.
“Why the lengthy pause? Between the initial scream and the final attack?”

  “That’s not hard to explain,” Ban-chindo answers, again letting his mouth move faster than respect dictates. “Sir!” he adds quickly.

  “I’m delighted you think so,” Arnem chuckles, once more resting his forearms on the parapet. “Please share this easy explanation that eludes both Linnet Niksar and myself.”

  Ban-chindo’s face twists with discomfort, as he realizes that his next statement had better be considered, deferential—and above all, accurate. “Well, Sentek—the first cry was one of alarm. A reaction, upon spying the pack, and a warning to the other members of his patrol.”

  Arnem nods slowly, settling the pallin’s spirits considerably. “That may have been the intent behind it—yet what would such tell us about the man who cried out?”

  Ban-chindo’s mouth falls open. “Sentek?”

  “Come now, Ban-chindo, think,” Arnem says, firmly but without anger. “You, too, Niksar. What have we said about the tricks that sound can play on a man near the Cat’s Paw?”

  Linnet Niksar’s features fill with comprehension. “If he is part of Baster-kin’s Guard, he would know the others are unlikely to hear him.”

  “True. Unless …” This has always been Arnem’s way: to draw ideas from his men, rather than to bellow indictments of their blindness.

  Ban-chindo snaps upright once again: he has used the moment well. “Unless—he was a new recruit. He may have been unaware of local conditions, and patrolled too far from the rest of the watch.”

  Arnem smiles and nods. “Yes, Ban-chindo,” he says, offering the young man a look that any soldier of Broken would endure great hardship to receive. “Yours is the best explanation.” As quickly as it brightened, however, Arnem’s face grows dark. “But it is not particularly reassuring …”

  Ban-chindo is too confused to speak, leaving Niksar to ask: “Why not, Sentek? It’s no joy to lose a man, but better to wolves than—”